


My Bodyguard

by emungere



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-13
Updated: 2007-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the last episode of Kapitel, Omi meets his grandfather and makes a new acquaintance online.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to Chrissy for the beta!

Omi's consciousness came back to him first, before his memory and before his body was ready to obey him. He tried to get his eyelids open and failed. He lay still in the dark behind his eyes and expected panic, but felt none.

It was peaceful to be so still. To be so helpless, even. For once in his life, there was nothing he could do. With that thought, he began to remember what he had once been able to do. Images piled one of top of another, bodies and blood, and his friends in pain, and--

His eyes snapped open, and he stared around him. White walls, white sheets, white-clad nurse at his bedside, looking startled. He could see the whites of her eyes. 

He grabbed her arm. "Where are they? Are they all right?" She gaped at him, and he squeezed harder. "Answer me!"

She yanked her arm away with surprising ease and hurried to the door, calling for a doctor.

Omi sat up, feeling his head ache and his muscles scream at him. He took a too-deep breath and started to cough, but pulled his legs over the edge anyway. He had to find the others.

He heard footsteps, and a woman's voice. "Please, Mr. Takatori, you can't get up yet."

Omi looked up, horror-movie slow, but there was no monster. Or if there was, it wasn't the woman wearing the white doctor's coat.

"That's not my name," he said. "That's not my name!"

He struggled off the bed, eyes searching for his weapons, his clothes, his friends. The last thing he was aware of was a tug on the back of his hand as he turned to stare at the needle there, and the tubing attached to it.

The doctor was saying something soothing that he didn't want to hear. Her voice faded, and darkness rolled back over his eyes.

***

When he woke the second time, it was all at once, and with the instant knowledge that he couldn't move. He opened his eyes and confirmed the restraints looped around his wrists. The call button was resting next to his hand. He pressed it.

Less than a minute later, the doctor entered his room. She looked wary.

"I'm glad you're awake again, Mr. Ta--" She stopped. "How do you feel?"

"My friends," he said. "We were together when...when it happened." He left it vague, not knowing what she thought had happened. "Are they all right?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Your grandfather didn't say anything about anyone else."

"My..." Omi just stared at her. For one insane moment, he thought maybe Persia was alive and pretending to be related to him, except he _was_ related to him, except-- But Persia wouldn't pretend to be his grandfather. That made no sense. And Reiji Takatori, while he looked old enough for the role, was dead. Wasn't he?

"Can I see him?" Omi asked weakly.

"I've already called him. He's on his way. Meanwhile..."

She unfastened the restraints and pulled out her stethoscope, and Omi spent a few moments getting acquainted with with particularly cold metal and even better acquainted with a tongue depressor.

"You're lucky to be alive," she said at the end of it. "You were half-drowned when he brought you in."

He nodded, though he didn't feel particularly lucky. He felt numb and confused and not at all sure that this was his life.

She looked at him with sympathy. "If you give me your friends' names, I can call around. They might have shown up at another hospital."

He forced a smile. "Let me ask my grandfather first. I wouldn't want to worry anyone. Maybe they just went home." Although he didn't know where home would be, now.

She nodded and left him alone. He lay back against the pillows and tried very hard not to cry. It wouldn't do any good, and the tissue box was too far away to reach.

He watched the clock tick away second after second and considered his options. His lungs ached. He certainly felt as if he'd been half-drowned, so that part was probably true. The rest of what he remembered--temple, chanting, smoke, Schwarz, the final fight--all seemed so improbable, even compared to the rest of his improbable life.

His grandfather walked in while he was still toying with the idea that it had all been a dream and he was suffering from amnesia. Or at least, if not his grandfather, certainly some older relative.

Omi recognized the family resemblance if not the man himself, and there was no doubt. He was definitely a Takatori and the right age to be Omi's grandfather. He almost had to be Shuichi and Reiji's father. There were no other Takatoris as far as Omi knew, and he had looked.

Of course, he hadn't known Shuichi's father was still alive.

The man smiled briefly. "Mamoru. It's good to finally meet you."

"Are my friends all right?" The question was out before he thought that perhaps this was not the best person to ask. If they weren't all right, it could well be because of something this man had done to them.

"They're well. You were the only one who needed hospitalization." He nodded to the phone. "They're at the flower shop if you want to call and check."

Omi let out a breath and felt his body relax. They were all right.

"Thank you," he said, and stopped, not sure what to call him.

"I'd appreciate it if you would call me grandfather. I'm aware I haven't earned the title, but it would be a kindness to an old man."

"Of course...grandfather."

He patted Omi's shoulder awkwardly. "You rest. We have much to talk about, but it can wait until you're stronger. Is there anything I can get you?"

Omi thought for a moment. "Could I have my computer?" he asked.

***

It had been an exciting few hours. He'd gotten bandages changed on the cut he hadn't known was there, across his ribs. Farfarello? A piece of masonry? He had no memory of it happening. He'd talked to Yohji, who sounded relieved to hear from him, and gotten the amazing news that Aya's sister was awake. Lastly, he'd gotten a massive dose of painkillers and his computer at the same time.

The...whatever it was...morphine? Was making it hard to think very seriously about his new family situation, or that he now had a family situation, but that was fine. He was totally okay with not thinking about anything right now.

He was currently staring at the screen, trying to remember why he'd wanted it. He had no missions to plan, no homework to do. But there was always the internet.

He got on the hospital's wireless network and wandered around for a while, checking his email, visiting favorite sites. But most of his favorite sites were either work-related or...well, or things he really shouldn't be looking at when just anyone could walk in. Especially not when Yohji knew what hospital he was in. If Yohji caught him looking at porn, neither of them would ever recover. Especially not the porn he'd been looking at recently.

At a loss, he logged onto AIM. There was no one he particularly wanted to talk to, but he had a game he played on AIM. According to his mood he picked a chat room name and tried to join it. Most of the time, it was empty, but sometimes the experience was quite educational. An expedition to fckallofyouguys was how he'd found some of the more recent links in his "Don't ever let Yohji see these" folder.

`boredteenageassassins`, he typed. The window opened, showing one other occupant. Omi stared at the screen, poised to close the window. It was probably somebody's RPG he'd stumbled into, and they wouldn't be happy to be interrupted.

The other occupant said nothing. Well, it wouldn't hurt to say hi.

`philoktetes: hi`

`squishyourhead: what kind of a screen name is that?`

`philoktetes: philoktetes was an archer in greek mythology`

`squishyourhead: who got ditched on an island and sat there for years and years with a festering wound because he whined too much. do you whine?`

`philoktetes: hardly ever.`

`squishyourhead: good. i'm sick of whiners.`

`philoktetes: is this an rpg chatroom?`

`squishyourhead: no. it just sounded like a good chat name`

`philoktetes: it is.`

`squishyourhead: whatever. so are you?`

`philoktetes: what?`

`squishyourhead: a bored teenage assassin.`

`philoktetes: two out of three`

He wasn't bored anymore, after all. There was a pause before he got a reply.

`squishyourhead: me too.`

`philoktetes: how come you're not in school?`

`squishyourhead: ...it's saturday`

`philoktetes: oh yeah. i forgot for a second.`

`squishyourhead: you're one of those pervs who look for underage kids online, aren't you? you're sitting around in your underwear picking your nose and drinking beer because you're unemployed and that's why you don't know what day it is.`

`philoktetes: lolol no, i swear`

`squishyourhead: ...lolol?`

`philoktetes: laughing out loud?`

`squishyourhead: out loud out loud?`

`philoktetes: you don't chat online much, do you?`

`squishyourhead: no.`

`squishyourhead: i just got this account`

`philoktetes: so you're an aim virgin?`

`squishyourhead: you ARE a perv. i knew it.`

`philoktetes: no, if i was a perv i'd be asking for pictures of you and stuff.`

`squishyourhead: i'm not sending you pictures of me.`

`philoktetes: i didn't ask you to!`

`squishyourhead: uh huh.`

`philoktetes: omg letz meet in rl so i can, like, mol3st you!`

Another long pause, and he thought maybe he'd gone too far.

`squishyourhead: lol. except i'm not really. but it was kind of funny.`

`philoktetes: kind of is better than nothing.`

`squishyourhead: it's weird that there's an acronym for real life. like this is life, and it's "real" life that needs the extra qualifier.`

`philoktetes: it is weird.`

`squishyourhead: i have to go`

` squishyourhead has left this chat `

Omi stared at the screen for a moment. Then he added squishyourhead to his buddy list. He'd apparently gone off line when he left the chat. Omi hoped he hadn't scared him away. Him? Maybe her, but with a name like that, probably not.

He stared at his screen for a few more minutes, but the painkillers were making his brain feel foggy and far away. He closed his eyes, just for a minute.

***

"Mamoru?" said a quiet voice.

Omi opened his eyes. "That's not my name," he said.

His grandfather frowned. "It is the name you were born with."

"It's not the name I've lived with."

"Very well. Omi, then. How are you?"

"I'm fine," he said, though his side ached and it still hurt to breathe. "I want to go back to the flowershop."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"Tomorrow, then. Soon. I... I don't need a ride or anything. I'm sure someone will come get me."

"You don't understand. You won't be going back to the flower shop."

"But...my friends..."

"Omi..." The old man spoke the name with clear distaste. "You have risked your life in Weiss quite enough. We are now the only two living members of the Takatori family, and soon enough it will be you alone. We have many things to discuss. I would like to take you back to my estate to recover. Your friends are welcome to come and visit, of course," he added.

Omi knew he should say no. It wasn't what he wanted. He wanted to go back to the shop and see Aya's sister and have Yohji tease him and watch soccer with Ken and so many other things they hadn't been able to do for months...not since before Aya killed Reiji.

But this man was the only family he had now. And he seemed perfectly sane so far. And everyone at the shop would know where he was and who he was with, so it couldn't be too dangerous.

Omi nodded hesitantly. "All right. I guess that would be okay...for a while."

His grandfather smiled. "Good. I'll make all the arrangements. You ought to get some more rest."

***

Omi got so much more rest that he suspected he'd been drugged. He remembered something of the limo ride and extensive garden and expensively decorated rooms, but his next moment of real clarity took place in another bed.

The coverlet was embroidered grey silk. The floor was tatami. A sliding glass door stood open to the outside, letting in the scent of rain and flowers.

He reached out and flicked the carafe of water with his fingernail, and it sang. Real crystal. He poured himself a glass with a shaky hand and sipped at it.

He supposed it shouldn't be so much of a surprise. Reiji and Shuichi had both been very well off. He was the only one in the family who had no money to speak of. Although, possibly that was about to change.

There was no phone that he could find, but his laptop lay next to him on top of the covers. Like a teddy bear, or a lover. He'd never had either.

He opened the lid and signed on immediately. One buddy online.

`philoktetes: you're back. did i scare you?`

`squishyourhead: lolonr.`

`philoktetes: heh. only not really?`

`squishyourhead: yeah. it takes a little more than that to scare me.`

`philoktetes: good.`

`squishyourhead: you're still not in school.`

`philoktetes: should i be?`

`squishyourhead: it's monday, perv.`

He stopped typing for a moment. Monday? He'd lost an entire day?

`philoktetes: no, i'm not in school.`

`squishyourhead: so you're admitting it`

`philoktetes: i'm just sick`

`squishyourhead: in the head`

`philoktetes: funny`

`squishyourhead: i'm hilarious. everyone says so.`

`philoktetes: that was sarcasm, wasn't it?`

`squishyourhead: not at all. people collapse laughing wherever i go.`

`philoktetes: somehow i don't believe you.`

`squishyourhead: maybe they just collapse. what's wrong with you?`

`philoktetes: pneumonia *cough cough*`

`squishyourhead: sucks to be you`

`philoktetes: yeah, kinda. so what are you doing at home?`

`squishyourhead: home schooled.`

`philoktetes: sucks to be you more.`

`squishyourhead: sometimes`

`philoktetes: you don't miss seeing people at school?`

`squishyourhead: i don't like people.`

`philoktetes: why not?`

`squishyourhead: just don't.`

`philoktetes: i'm sorry. that must be pretty sad`

`squishyourhead: fuck off`

`philoktetes: can't make me`

`squishyourhead: fine. then i'll fuck off`

` squishyourhead is no longer online `

Omi stared at the screen, blinking. He hadn't meant to... That was the problem with the internet. It was hard to tell when people were joking. And he wasn't always the best at that in real life, either.

He signed off and, as a young man entered the room, closed his computer.

The young man smiled. "My name is Hiroshi. Mr. Takatori said I was to see if there was anything you needed."

Omi shook his head automatically and then stopped. "Um. A phone? So I can call my friends?"

Hiroshi nodded. "Of course, sir. Anything else? Are you hungry?"

"A little. You...you don't have to call me sir."

He bowed very slightly. "I'll be back in a moment, sir."

Okay, apparently he did have to call him sir. Hiroshi left and returned less than five minutes later with a tray full of food and a cordless phone.

"If you press six on the phone, you'll get me. Please don't hesitate to call. I'll be happy to get you anything you need." He smiled briefly and Omi wondered what exactly "anything" meant. "The bathroom is right through there, and there are clothes in your size in the closet. If you call when you're done with lunch, I'll take the tray away. Is there anything else you need, sir?"

"No. No, I'm fine. Thank you."

Hiroshi departed and Omi started picking at the food. A second later, he was devouring it, which made him wonder exactly how long it had been since he'd eaten. Saturday when he woke up with an I.V. drip. Monday now. But he couldn't remember what day of the week it had been when they left for the temple. It just hadn't seemed that important a thing to remember.

After lunch, he called the shop.

"Hello?" a tentative female voice answered.

Omi took a guess. "Aya?"

"Oh, I'll get him. Hold on."

"No, I meant... You're his sister, right? Aya's sister Aya?"

"You must be Omi."

"Yeah. Ran's sister Aya, I meant. Sorry."

She laughed a little. "It's all right. I'm getting used to it, and no one calls here for me, so..."

"It's nice to finally meet you. Even if it's only over the phone."

She was quiet for a moment. "Thank you," she said, finally. "For helping him. I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for all of you. You're the only one I haven't had a chance to thank yet."

"Oh, it's...it's nothing. I mean, not nothing, but." He stopped. "Um. You don't have to thank me for it. Weiss is the only family I have, and..." Except, apparently, they weren't anymore. "And I guess that makes you family, too."

He could hear the smile in her voice as she answered. "Funny. That's what Yohji and Ken said too, pretty much. Speaking of Yohji, he's threatening to grope me if I don't give him the phone, and I'd rather avoid that, so..."

He laughed. "Right. I don't blame you."

Yohji's voice came on the line, sounding indignant. "I never threatened to grope her! Aya would kill me, and anyway she's too young. How are you, kid?"

"I'm good. It's...very nice here. Peaceful. How's the shop?"

"Noisy. Crowded. You should come home. The dirty dishes are piling up."

He smiled. "Did you find out anything about my grandfather?"

"His name is Saijou Takatori. He's rich, well respected, and as far as I can tell, he actually is your grandfather. Is he nuts?"

"Not so far."

"Maybe the sanity gene just skipped a generation. I never thought Persia was all there, personally. I mean, he never hooked up with Manx, and I'm pretty sure she would have. He'd have to be crazy to turn that down."

"What about my brothers?"

"Oh, they were raised by the head loon himself. They don't count."

Omi's smile stretched into a grin. It was always good to talk to Yohji. "I might be able to buy that. Is there anything else? Is he really all that's left of the family?"

"Looks like. You and him, that's it. Sanity and survival go together, I guess."

"So far, anyway. Um. I don't know the number here and I don't know where we are..."

"It's okay. I found his estate, so I'll know where to start looking if you don't check in."

"I'll call at least once a day."

"If you don't..."

"I know."

"Good boy. Have fun. Don't do anything I'd do." Yohji hung up, as usual, without saying goodbye.

Omi held the phone for a minute, feeling much better. They'd come and look for him if he got in trouble. And his grandfather was his grandfather, and was maybe not evil.

He repressed the urge to see if squishyourhead was back online and got up. It was easier this time, and his legs were much steadier. He managed a short shower, and it felt so good to be clean again.

The clothes he found in the closet were much nicer than his normal clothes--silk turtlenecks and suits that probably cost as much as his bow did. Shoes that might've cost more. It all fit perfectly, but the suits just didn't feel right. He found jeans on a shelf and went for those and a turtleneck instead.

The cut across his side seemed to be healing, so he left the bandages off. It couldn't have been that bad if it didn't even need stitches.

He dialed six on the phone, and a few minutes later, Hiroshi came in to collect his tray.

"I'm glad to see you up and about, sir. Mr. Takatori is in the garden if you feel well enough to join him."

"I think so. Where exactly?" He remembered a lot of gardens.

"Just out onto the patio and to your left. You should see him."

"Thank you."

Hiroshi smiled. "No need for thanks."

Omi waited until he was gone and stepped out onto the patio. The grey slate was slick with rain, though the sky was clear now. His grandfather was sitting in a wheelchair a few yards away.

Omi walked over to him quickly. "Grandfather? Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, the chair. I have better days and worse days. My lungs are not good, and my hip often troubles me. No, I wouldn't do that," he said as Omi reached for the pot of tea to pour him some. "It's poisoned, you see."

Omi was sure he'd heard wrong. "What?"

"Oh, yes. By Hiroshi. He has very definite ideas about how Kritiker should be run, and I'm afraid they are no longer compatible with mine."

"He just brought me lunch..." Omi said weakly.

"Oh, don't worry about that. You're quite safe. He thinks you're young and malleable, you see. That you'll make a good figure head while he runs the show behind your back. I have a rather higher opinion of you."

Omi sat down in the chair opposite the wheelchair with a whoosh of expelled air from the cushion. "Is that why you brought me here?"

"Indeed. I would prefer to keep Hiroshi on the Kritiker payroll--he's very good indeed at what he does--but I can't do that and keep running it. He poisons me a little bit at a time so I won't catch on, and I avoid it as much as I can, but I can't avoid it all without arousing his suspiscion."

Omi couldn't help staring. "But...he's trying to kill you..."

"That's the idea. I want to avoid my death obviously, but I also want to avoid his. You are the perfect solution. By the time he realizes you can't be manipulated, you will, I hope, have sufficiently decreased his power and influence over our agents, and he can be dealt with. Or perhaps he will find life under your leadership more congenial. One can but hope."

"But he's trying to kill you!"

His grandfather merely looked amused. "Many people have tried to kill me, Mamoru. I try not to take it personally."

Omi let his old name stand this time. His grandfather probably had other things on his mind, what with being poisoned and all.

"You want me to take over Kritiker," he said instead. "Which means that..."

"I'm running it now, yes. Shuichi ran Weiss and the Tokyo division. I oversee the bigger picture and coordinate our international operations and so on." He held up a hand. "I don't expect an answer now, of course. But, obviously, the sooner the better."

He turned the conversation to inconsequentials, and Omi tried to keep up. All he could really take in was that someone was trying to murder the only family he had left.

***

His grandfather had a lot of wine at dinner--from a bottle opened at the table--and talked. A lot.

By the time Omi got back to his room, his head was swimming with facts and figures and Kritiker history and operations. He pulled on the pajamas Hiroshi had helpfully laid out for him with only a small shiver of creeped-outness and climbed between the sheets.

He opened his computer and logged on.

`squishyourhead: you're back`

`philoktetes: so are you`

`squishyourhead: for now`

`philoktetes: so what are you doing?`

`squishyourhead: waiting`

`philoktetes: for what?`

`squishyourhead: just waiting. nothing else to do`

`philoktetes: that must be nice`

`squishyourhead: it's boring. hence the bored part of bored teenage assassins`

`philoktetes: i'm not bored anymore`

`squishyourhead: did you get your next assassination target?`

`philoktetes: sort of`

`squishyourhead: yeah? anyone good?`

The thing about his life, Omi thought, was that no one would believe it even if he told them.

`philoktetes: it's not so much killing someone as keeping them alive. see, my grandfather is the head of this vigilante organization and i used to work for one of his assassination teams, but now someone's trying to kill him, so i have to take over the organization.`

He wondered if that would get him a real "lol." For a long time, it didn't get him anything. Five full minutes of silence went by before he got a reply.

`squishyourhead: Bombay?`

Omi stared at the screen. Yohji and Ken wouldn't use his code name. Aya might. Oh God, he thought. Please let it be Aya.

`philoktetes: Abyssinian?`

`squishyourhead: Guess again. And thanks for confirming your identity.`

`philoktetes: Manx? If this is a joke...`

`squishyourhead: I'm not your friend, Bombay.`

Omi bit his lip hard and clamped down on his panic. Whoever it was, they already knew, so at least he wasn't giving away information. Who? If not Manx...

`philoktetes: Schwarz.`

`squishyourhead: Good guess.`

`philoktetes: We thought you were dead.`

`squishyourhead: We're not dead, we're just not stupid enough to go around selling flowers like nothing happened.`

`philoktetes: Who are you?`

`squishyourhead: Does it really matter?`

`philoktetes: You're not Schuldig.`

`squishyourhead: No, I'm not. And I'll take it as a compliment that you recognized that.`

`philoktetes: And you're not the crazy one.`

`squishyourhead: No. I'm the sane one.`

`philoktetes: Your leader's not a teenager. Which makes you the one I fought.`

`squishyourhead: A winnar iz you, Bombay. Too bad there's no prize.`

`philoktetes: Omi`

`squishyourhead: What?`

`philoktetes: My name is Omi.`

`squishyourhead: Your name is Mamoru. Though if you're really taking over Kritiker I guess I should call you Persia.`

`philoktetes: I haven't agreed to do it yet.`

`squishyourhead: You will.`

He was right, unfortunately. If his grandfather needed him, he couldn't very well say no. So Schwarz knew who was going to be the new head of Kritiker. Well, apparently they knew who the old one was, too. Schuldig was a telepath. They probably knew anything they wanted to.

`philoktetes: Maybe. Why are we suddenly capitalizing?`

Again, a long pause.

`squishyourhead: seemed more appropriate?`

`philoktetes: i guess. harder on the hands. i type a lot.`

`squishyourhead: i don't need to use my hands.`

`philoktetes: well aren't you special`

`squishyourhead: yeah. i am.`

`philoktetes: are you still in japan?`

`squishyourhead: i'm practically across the street from you. i can see the estate from here`

`philoktetes: are you here to kill my grandfather? i will stop you.`

`squishyourhead: no. i'm here because i wanted to get out of tokyo. the rest of my team isn't even in the country. but if i was going to kill your grandfather, it's not like you could stop me.`

`philoktetes: i'd try.`

`squishyourhead: you'd fail, and you'd die.`

`philoktetes: i'd still try.`

`squishyourhead: your naive stupidity seems to have brought this conversation to a standstill.`

`philoktetes: do you want to have coffee tomorrow?`

Long, long pause, while Omi read over and over what he couldn't believe he'd just typed. It had been in his head as they'd typed the last few lines, but he hadn't meant to say it. He considered closing the window and signing off and never signing back on again.

But there was no "lolonr" yet, so he waited. The youngest member of Schwarz, all alone? Not planning to kill him or his grandfather? And Schwarz had been fighting against the creepy old people at the temple, too. The enemy of your enemy is your friend, or at least your potential ally. And he couldn't help thinking what an ally he would make.

`squishyourhead: are you insane, bombay?`

`philoktetes: i told you i have a name`

`squishyourhead: i know your name, idiot.`

`philoktetes: i don't know yours.`

Another long pause, but he hadn't said no yet.

`squishyourhead: nagi naoe.`

`philoktetes: pleased to meet you. are we having coffee?`

`squishyourhead: i don't like coffee.`

`philoktetes: how about a milkshake?`

`squishyourhead: fine. noon tomorrow at the place next to the library. don't be late.`

` squishyourhead is no longer online `

Omi's smile was small and cautious, but slow to fade.

***

"I'd like to borrow a gun," Omi said to his grandfather the next morning.

The old man didn't even look surprised. "Talk to Hiroshi. He can set you up with something. There's a shooting range at the back of the house."

"I don't need a range. I'm going to meet someone."

"Then tell him you want the limo as well. I won't be needing it."

And that was all there was to it.

Omi asked Hiroshi for the gun and received it, along with a collapsible crossbow that fit under his jacket. He wore a suit for the occasion and felt thoroughly ridiculous in it.

By the time they reached the center of town and pulled up in front of the ice cream place, he felt still more ridiculous. "I'll call you if I need you," he told the driver, and got out.

He brushed down his suit jacket and put on sunglasses against the summer glare.

Nagi was sitting at one of the outside tables, drinking a strawberry milkshake and looking straight at him.

Omi swallowed and walked over.

An invisible hand pushed the chair out for him. "Sit."

Omi sat. "You threw me into a pillar."

It wasn't the smoothest opening line and certainly not how he'd been planning to begin, but he saw Nagi's mouth twitch. Disembodied fingers ran through the hair on the back of his head, and he shivered.

"Your skull seems to be intact. Schuldig always said you all had amazingly thick skulls."

"You're really here all alone?"

"I don't need help to take you out, Takatori. I don't even need a weapon."

Omi's gun moved very slightly in its holster.

"...So I see."

"You owe me for the milkshake."

Omi passed him a few bills, which he pocketed without comment. A moment of silence followed, awkward on Omi's part, apparently not on Nagi's.

"Why did you agree to come here?" Omi asked.

Nagi nodded at the glass in front of him. "Free milkshake. And I was bored."

"Your team left you here?"

Nagi's face didn't change, but the finger drawing patterns in the condensation on his glass paused for a moment. "It's safer this way. Eszett is still looking for us."

"You're living all by yourself?"

"Some of us lack rich relatives to stay with."

Omi looked down at the table. "I think I'm going to get a milkshake. Do you want another?"

"Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Vanilla."

Inside, the woman ringing up his order gave him an odd look, and it took him almost a full minute to realize that it was probably because it was the middle of a school day. And not because, for example, she could tell that they were assassins. His first thought, embarrassingly, had been that she thought they were on a date.

He carried the milkshakes back out and slid Nagi's over to him.

"Why not chocolate?" His own was chocolate with chocolate-chocolate-chip ice cream, which left tiny fragments of chips that were difficult to suck up through the straw, but rewarding when he managed it.

"I don't like chocolate."

"Everyone likes chocolate."

"I don't."

Omi just shook his head. "Then you're weird."

Nagi stared at him, and Omi could practically hear the thought process behind that stare. _After everything you've seen me do, you think I'm weird because I don't like chocolate?_

Omi ventured a small smile. Nagi didn't smile back, but the hunched tension of his posture eased slightly.

"Why did you invite me?" Nagi asked.

"Oh. I just thought maybe...if we weren't enemies anymore..."

"If you tell me you want to be my friend, I'm going to pick up your limo and drop it on you."

Omi swallowed and tried to hide it by sipping his milkshake. "Allies? Maybe?"

"Allies have something to offer one another. You have nothing I want."

Omi thought hard. He didn't want to give up now, but Nagi was right. What could he possibly... _Some of us lack rich relatives to stay with._ And Nagi's clothes had seen better days. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot he had.

"Money," he said. He tried not to make it sound like a question and failed.

Nagi stopped sucking at his straw and tilted his head to one side. "Are you offering me a job, Takatori?"

Omi nodded, with more certainty than he felt. "I have a feeling I could use a bodyguard. That's what you did for my...my father, isn't it?"

"Your uncle."

"What?"

"Reiji Takatori was your uncle. Shuichi Takatori was your father." Nagi studied his face. "I guess he never got a chance to tell you."

"No," Omi said weakly. "No. He didn't."

He concentrated on the texture of his milkshake, grainy with chocolate. Persia...Uncle Shuichi was his father. His father hadn't left him with the kidnappers. His father had rescued him. _Ouka wasn't his sister._

"He didn't know," Nagi said. "Until Reiji Takatori told him. It was the same night you stormed the building."

There was no sympathy in the words, and Omi was grateful for that. He didn't want to cry. Not in public and especially not in front of Nagi.

"And he died before... He was trying to tell me something at the end."

"Don't cry," Nagi snapped. "Limo. On your head. I'm serious."

Omi looked up, mouth tight. "I'm not going to cry."

"Good. Don't cry and don't whine, and do what I tell you when I tell you. If I'm giving you orders you can assume they're for your own safety."

Omi blinked. "Does that mean...you're taking the job?"

"Yes." Nagi stood. "Let's go."

"Back to grandfather's house?"

"To get my things. I don't have much. It won't take long."

"Should I call the limo?"

"We'll walk until I have a chance to look over the car." Nagi glanced at him and frowned. "Can you walk? You don't really have pneumonia, do you?"

"No. I cough a lot still, but I'm okay."

He'd been sure that was the truth, but four blocks later, he was lagging behind. Finally, he had to stop, bending over, hands on his knees. His lungs felt smaller than they should.

Nagi didn't stop to wait for him, but he felt lighter all of a sudden. Breathing was easier without the effort of holding himself up, and he suddenly understood what the description 'walking on air' must feel like.

He caught up to Nagi easily. "Thank you," he said.

"You were slowing me down."

Nagi's room, when they got there, was exactly that. One room, bathroom curtained off in the corner, unmade bed against the wall. There were take-out containers piled by the door.

"It's very cozy," Omi said. He meant it. It was small, but he could imagine living here. No family, no obligations, no Kritiker, no Weiss. Just this small room and the town to walk around and take-out noodles for dinner...

Nagi snorted. "It's a pit. Why are you bothering to be polite?"

"One of us has to be," Omi said without thinking.

Nagi didn't answer, but his narrow-eyed expression might have been interpreted as amusement. Or the desire to drop a limo on Omi's head. He packed a small bag with clothes and a few books, shoving a laptop in on top of everything.

"All right. Let's go."

They walked more slowly on the way back to the estate. Nagi kept a pace behind and to his left once they got out of town, eyes scanning the empty roadside ceaselessly.

"Um," Omi said. "I'm not expecting an attack right this minute."

"Which would make it the best time for one. Shut up and let me do my job."

"Why didn't you get a job doing this for someone else?"

"Who would hire a fifteen-year-old for this kind of work?"

"But...with what you can do..."

"Yes, because advertising my talent would be a genius move right now while all of Eszett is out looking for us. Idiot," he added under his breath.

"All right, but...there must have been something you could do if you didn't want to live like that."

Nagi shrugged. "It wasn't so bad," he said, after a minute. "Not having anything to do was okay."

"That's how I felt in the hospital. Well. Until I opened my eyes. It was nice while it lasted."

There was silence for a while. Omi wanted to ask why Nagi had ever been in Schwarz, but he suspected he'd get told it was none of his business.

"Wait a minute," Omi said suddenly. "You're younger than me?"

"If you're older than fifteen, yes, I'm younger than you are."

"When did you...start?"

"Crawford found me when I was nine. I started killing professionally when I was eleven." There was a faint stress on 'professionally.'

"I was fourteen," Omi said. "I thought that was young."

"I really have no interest in sharing my life story with you. How much are you paying me anyway?"

"How much do you want? I've never had a bodyguard before."

Nagi stopped in the middle of the road and looked him up and down. "Not much of a body to guard. Fifty thousand a year to start, American dollars, in a Swiss bank account."

His grandfather probably had the money, and if he didn't, well, they'd find out soon enough. Omi nodded. "Okay."

The estate was in sight now. Nagi started walking again, and Omi tried to trail behind, wanting room to think. He wasn't allowed to trail. Invisible hands kept him exactly where Nagi thought he should be.

He tried not to dwell on what else those invisible hands could do and what Nagi had meant when he'd said he didn't have much of a body. To guard. Omi sighed. It was true. He didn't have much of a body, to guard or to do anything else with.

His thoughts were interrupted as they reached the gate. He walked over to the intercom to ask the guard on duty to open it, but Nagi stopped him. The high metal gates began to open, metal protesting.

He stared, first at the gates and then at Nagi.

"One thing Schwarz taught me was how to make an entrance," Nagi said.

***

His grandfather had taken the fifty thousand a year well. He'd even congratulated Omi on getting a former member of Schwarz for a bodyguard. He hadn't said a word about not trusting him, though he had said that he was sure Omi would be careful to keep sensitive documents from unauthorized eyes.

Omi wondered when and if Nagi's eyes would ever be considered authorized. Then he realized that it was up to him. As of now, his grandfather had said, he was the head of Kritiker.

The head of Kritiker headed back to his bedroom where his bodyguard was sitting in a straight-backed chair by the door and looking sullen.

"All right?" Nagi said. "Am I allowed to do my job now?"

Omi nodded. "He says it's all right. And...he says I'm in charge now."

"Good. That guy's poisoning his tea, you know."

"I know. The thought is that he'll stop once grandfather's not in Kritiker anymore."

He wondered how far he should trust Nagi. How far he should trust anyone.

Nagi snorted. "Yeah, he'll start poisoning your tea instead. You people come up with the worst plans."

"You people?"

"Takatoris."

"My name is Omi Tsukiyono," Omi said.

"Your name is your name, and you know what it is. Saying it's something else doesn't make you a different person." Nagi paused. "But apparently you're signing my paychecks now. So what do I call you?"

Omi sighed. "Mamoru. I may as well get used to it."

Nagi nodded and then stepped in front of him as the door opened.

Hiroshi and another man came through, carrying a cot. "Where do you want it?" Hiroshi asked.

Nagi gestured. "By the door is fine. No, not behind it. On the other side."

They set the cot down, and Hiroshi smiled less than pleasantly at them. "If you'd told me you were having a guest to stay, I would've had another room prepared, sir."

"He's not a guest. He's my bodyguard."

Hiroshi didn't quite laugh as he withdrew, but it was obviously a close thing.

"It would be easier to just kill him," Nagi said.

"Grandfather says he's too important to the organization. You don't have to sleep..." Here. "On a cot."

"I've slept worse places."

"We can share the bed if you want." It seemed only polite to offer.

Nagi glanced at him. "I knew you were a perv."

Mamoru blushed.

Nagi slept on the cot, but the next night the king bed was exchanged for two doubles. Mamoru got used to sleeping with his bodyguard in the room and waking up to the sound of invisible fingers tapping on computer keys. Within a few weeks, he found it hard to remember waking up any other way or answering to any other name.


	2. Champion of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A separate story more than another chapter, sequel to My Bodyguard and to mistressrenet's [Still Not Your Friend](http://mistressrenet.livejournal.com/134042.html).

Nagi never watched cartoons. Not even that giant robot angst-fest anime crap everyone at school had found so gripping. Not even when he was alone in Schwarz's apartment and Schuldig was suitably distracted and at least ten miles away. Certainly not now, in Takatori's house, under the eyes of a dozen security cameras.

And if he had watched cartoons, he would _never_ have watched Sailor Moon.

"Are you sure?" Mamoru asked.

Memories of living with Schuldig made Nagi snap back, "Of course I'm sure," before he realized that Mamoru was not replying to his thoughts and that, in fact, the question had not been addressed to him. 

He shut his mouth tightly and looked down at the table. It was actually possible to suppress a blush using his talent, but his control was not what it should be today, after so little sleep, and he was afraid of crushing capillaries. Fucking dreams.

Mamoru ended the meeting a few minutes later and politely kept his eyes on the files in front of him until everyone else had filed out. Only then did he look over at Nagi.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"You didn't sleep well last night. I heard you..." Mamoru had no blush-blocking super powers, and his complexion made that painfully clear. "Um. Moving around."

 _Humping the bed,_ Nagi mentally translated. Possibly moaning, too. Nagi almost never swore, but thanks to Schuldig and Farfarello, he knew the appropriate words. Recited silently, they formed a calming litany that let him answer more or less steadily.

"I was dreaming. You know what that's like."

Nagi winced inwardly as he spoke. Reminding Mamoru of his nightmare last week and what it had led to was not the best plan right now.

"I know." Mamoru paused. "I just thought...they didn't sound like nightmares."

Mamoru got up and left the room without giving him a chance to answer, and Nagi was obliged to follow.

Dusk was closing in around the compound, staining the edges of the sky pink and orange. Mamoru's grandfather sat out in the garden and waved as they passed by an open window. Mamoru didn't even notice. Nagi deliberately looked away, though not before he caught the old bastard's smile.

 _Not telepathic_ , Nagi reminded himself. The worst he could be doing was plotting Nagi's unpleasant demise, which he almost certainly would be doing if he knew Nagi's dreams last night had included his only living grandson in a Sailor Moon costume.

Mamoru had looked disturbingly good in it. Something about the boots, Nagi thought, and the way the bow emphasized his ass, especially when he struck that ridiculous pose and announced he was _Sailor Tsukiyono, Champion of Justice!_

The bow proved so distracting that Nagi didn't realize Mamoru was leading him back to their room until the door was already closed and Mamoru was looking at him with an unaccountably shy smile and his hair falling forward across his eyes.

Normally, Nagi would stay silent and wait this out, but two hours of sleep and a big red bow conspired against him.

"What?" he snapped.

"Nagi-kun..." Mamoru looked almost hurt. His voice was soft and made Nagi think of the last time he'd called him _Nagi-kun_ , which was just before...

Well. Just before they'd had sex. Five days ago. Neither of them had said a word about it since. Of course, that might be partially due to the fact that Nagi had gotten up that morning an hour before Mamoru and been safely dressed with his own bed made by the time the alarm went off. If they'd woken up together, things might have been different.

He wondered if he could blame the dreams on sexual frustration. Schuldig would almost certainly have said yes. After he'd stopped laughing.

"I thought, maybe--" Mamoru started.

At the same time, Nagi said, "Are you sure--"

They both stopped. Mamoru smiled again, looking very much like he used to, despite the hair. Nagi couldn't make himself smile back, but he stroked an invisible hand across Mamoru's hip instead, and that seemed to be an acceptable substitute.

Mamoru stepped closer, closer, and Nagi barely remembered to make the door lock and the drapes slide closed before Mamoru kissed him. Wet and tentative, and a little clumsy, and Mamoru was hard against his thigh. Nagi slid both hands into Mamoru's dark hair and wondered if he'd been hard during the meeting.

He could have touched him, even from all the way across the table. Could have used his talent to stroke his thigh, cup the bulge between his legs... Mamoru had said it didn't freak him out anymore. He might have been lying, but Nagi tried it now anyway.

Mamoru leaned against him and moaned softly in his ear, hands fisted in Nagi's shirt, and that was--that--yes. Mamoru's breath was warm and smelled like the coffee he'd recently taken to drinking all day long. His lips pressed against the skin just below Nagi's ear, and his tongue poked out, a single point of wet heat.

Nagi bit his lip and moved them over to the bed more through abuse of his talent than any use of his muscles. Mamoru was not helping; clinging to him, barely shuffling backwards across the floor. Nagi pushed him across the bed and toppled down onto him.

It was a lot easier when they were both wearing pajamas.

"Just get _rid_ of them," Mamoru said, after a few heated moments of struggle with belts and buttons and zippers.

Mamoru's turtleneck and slacks shredded easily, leaving him naked and looking up at Nagi with impossibly wide eyes. Nagi couldn't think of anything else to do, so he kissed him.

Mamoru's hands found their way into Nagi's pants, one cupping his ass, the other on his cock, and Nagi was too distracted to do anything serious in reciprocation.

His talent extended itself almost of its own accord, running ghost hands across every inch of Mamoru's exposed skin. This touch was more sensitive than his physical hands, and he could feel everything, every hair and imperfection, the unexpected hardness of new muscle, the softness of Mamoru's lips and the shiver when he touched them.

Mamoru's hand on his cock was steady despite everything. Nagi lasted perhaps two minutes, which was about a minute and a half better than last time.

He panted against Mamoru's chest afterwards, convinced he was never going to move again. But Mamoru was still hard, an insistent heat against his stomach.

Moving was still impossible. It was far easier to use his talent, to wrap an edge of power and will around Mamoru's cock and listen to him gasp.

Nagi squeezed lightly from base to head, stroking, sucking, feeling heat and hard and moisture at the tip. He'd done this to himself, but it was nothing like doing it to someone else, watching Mamoru's eyes scrunch shut and his bottom lip bitten red between his teeth.

Mamoru came quickly, sticky heat spreading between their bodies, most of it on Nagi's shirt. That could be washed, at least. Mamoru's clothes were useless, too small ever for rags. Nagi thought it was possible he should apologize for that, but he didn't feel sorry.

They lay together quietly, Mamoru's hand settling on the back of his neck.

"Nagi-kun?"

"What?"

"Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

Nagi stiffened. "I do not talk in my sleep."

Mamoru nodded obediently. "Of course not. But I wouldn't mind, if--"

Nagi locked Mamoru's jaw shut until the muffled sounds stopped and he was relatively sure there would be no end to that sentence.

"I do not talk in my sleep. And if I do, you...you shouldn't listen."

"It can't be worse than the stewardess uniform," Mamoru said.

"...What?"

Mamoru told him.

Nagi's dreams that night featured a slightly different uniform.


End file.
